The Call of Houdini
by RavenclaWriteRules
Summary: This started as a joke about how a sinkhole opened in Donald Trump's resort Mar-a-lago last month and turned into an elaborate revenge narrative about how Houdini performed his greatest trick: escaping death itself. Well, actually, Tartarus. And like, Tartarus specifically a second time. Whatever.


**Note: Some artistic freedom was taken. In other words: I don't know a lot about the PJO series, but I just really wanted to write this story idea. Other stuff is borrowed from hankering around on Wikipedia.**

"So, is that a 'no' then, ma'am?" Howard Lovecraft asked, trying not to appear disappointed.

"Indeed. Do not pursue _The Cancer of Superstition_ any further," Mrs. Houdini replied.

"I understand," Lovecraft sighed. "I am sorry for your loss, by the way...your husband was an incredible man. I truly believed he could escape from anything...even Cthulhu, if he were put into the mood..."

"Do not speak of the word 'believe,' Mr. Lovecraft," Mrs. Houdini sniffed. "It is far too soon."

"Are you leaving so soon?"

"Yes. I have to make preparations."

"For what?"

"To see if he can truly perform his greatest feat," she replied, crossing her arms and walking out. Lovecraft merely nodded and waved her out. Just then, he felt a chill go down his spine as he felt something watching him from his window. Or, rather, someone.

Hidden in the shadows, the Lord of Darkness, Despair, Donald Trump's future first Horcrux, and other negative words that start with D shook his head and smirked. Not if he could help it. As he walked away, the writer man looked out his window and stared at the shadowy figure. Watching it gave him familiar tremors, giving him an impression reminiscent of the night gaunts.

"I wonder..." Lovecraft muttered to himself. "Why, he seems just like the Red Death...he even wears a mask on his face..."

He soon realized who it was and bowed his head.

The man went by many names. Lovecraft himself had written about him, calling him Nyarlathotep. However, in this moment, the man's most ancient name sprung to his lips in a moment of shock.

" _Hades_ ," Lovecraft hissed fearfully.

* * *

"Can't say I was terribly fond of the man," the drunk man grunted. "He dedicated his life to debunking exactly what I believe in."

"And that was?" Hades asked politely.

"Spiritualism," the writer man replied, crossing his arms. "He rooted out all those who claimed to have truly supernatural abilities and showed up, just to expose séances and superstitions as fraud. Rumors say he was in the process of hiring Lovecraft to write a book about it. Why, I bet he'd even go after you, sir, if you claimed you could cand ommunicate with the dead."

Hades chuckled. "Some mortals can get by faking the real thing, but truly, I would know if anyone passed in between the gates of my world."

The writer man ignored him, wrapped up in staring out of the window.

"His widow is planning to do something that might just prove even him wrong, though," he muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?" Hades leaned forwards.

"She's thinking of holding a séance for him, herself. Says they had a code word planned out, too."

"Oh, isn't that lovely," Hades crossed his arms.

"Would be nice," the writer muttered. "To see him again...I suppose I'll have to say "I was right" to him, and he'll simply reply "Just another one of my tricks. I planned this all along." Yes, of course he will. There's no doubt...it's him, he's been hiding it all along. He was only ever weeding out competition, not revealing fakes. He, he was the greatest of them all, with the most powers...it is a simple feat, for him to leave death's clutches..."

"Yes, yes, of course he will," Hades replied soothingly.

"I've...I've held one too, you know. A séance. Back a few years ago, another magician came in and did it...right here, in my flat..."

"Hm, I don't remember any breaches in 1919, but I can ask Charon for any abnormalities and see if your suspicions are correct," Hades chuckled. "But thank you for your information. You were very helpful today. Here, have some more," he poured more alcohol into the man's vessel.

"What is this wine?" The man blinked. "What speakeasy could you possibly have bought it from? It is like none other..."

"Stole it from Dionysus," Hades replied breezily. "No easy feat. He guards this type jealously. Especially with my brother punishing him by starting this whole Prohibition thing in the first place...oh, believe me, he is careful with what remains of what he has stocked up."

"No easy feat..." The writer shook his head. "It will not be, but he will return to life...just like Sherlock himself..."

"Well, I suppose you could call me Moriarty then," Hades smiled, "except my ability to keep people dead has a 100% success rate." Standing up, he straightened his clothes and sighed. "Thanks to you, I believe I've gathered all necessary information. Well, then...I'll see you in a few years, Mr. Doyle. But at least, now you may know that I take your life with complete and utter respect. Always a fan of your work."

"Thank you," Sir Arthur Conan Doyle murmured.

Hades merely chuckled.

"Did...did you know I was on a cricket team, once?" Doyle asked drunkenly.

"No, I did not, but I did not ask either."

"Was founded...by good old Barrie, that fellow," Doyle coughed. "You heard of him, right? ...Wrote Peter Pan..."

"Indeed."

"Never was great...but he certainly loved the game. Heavens, there were so many of us writers...Kipling and Wells, even Milne set aside his precious Pooh Bear and joined in..."

"Wondrous...and this team's name was?"

"Allahakbarries," Doyle replied wistfully.

"...Pardon?"

"You know...that saying "heaven help us" in Arabic? Alahackbargh or something like that..."

"I do not think it means what you think it means."

"...also, we're the Allahakbarries, because, Barrie founded it..." He waited a few seconds, then coughed again.

"Perhaps you've had enough honey mead for today."

"What _is_ in this wine?"

"Nectar. Ambrosia. What else. I see what they said about never meeting your idols, but I thought it only applied to humans seeing my face and not the other way around. Now, if you'll excuse me...since I have finished frying one of my biggest fishes, there is a property in Palm Beach that caught my eye. Even the lord of death could use a vacation every once in a while."

"So, you're a property buyer?" Doyle eyed him suspiciously.

Hades laughed darkly. "All that is below belongs to me. What lies above, however...what I wish to possess is far more limited. Good day."

"Good day," Doyle replied, watching the man vanish into the shadows before him. He sat for a few seconds in contemplative science. Yes, he had definitely had enough alcohol for the day. No wonder that stuff was being prohibited.

* * *

"Bring me the security ghouls guarding our dear friend Harry," Hades commanded.

"Of course...by the way, my lord, I am so glad to see you returned from your sojourn."

"You say that every All Hallows' Eve. Check the census. All those who attempted an escape have been safely returned?"

"Yes, my lord," Charon replied. "However, I regret to inform you that some of them have taken to...a traditional mischievous spirit. Several of them have insisted on calling me "Karen.""

There was a silence.

"I don't understand the phonetic difference," Hades replied coldly. "By the way, that is an interesting Halloween costume. Pray, what ultimate evil are you playing dress-up as, Al Capone?"

"Oh, no no no," Charon chuckled. "This is not my costume, this is a genuine bespoke Prada suit. Isn't it magnificent?"

More silence.

"It's a very lovely costume, Charon," Hades replied. "Well, thank you for checking the census. Our good friend Harry...he is still where we last left him?"

"Indeed," Charon replied, though he seemed somewhat miffed. "Right back in the pits of Tartarus. He will not escape again...his death is truly the last of his tricks."

"I see. Oh, here are the guards. Status report, please?"

"He's still there," the ghouls replied. "Screaming "Rosabelle, believe!" at the surface as he has for the past ten years. Quite repetitive to listen to, actually."

"Wonderful. Eventually, his wife will give up holding those silly séances."

"Actually," Charon bit his lip, "She gave up. This was her last year...ten years is a long time to mortals, after all."

Hades looked around at the ghouls and grinned.

"Well, what do you know," Hades muttered softly, triumphantly. "It seems...not even his good friends on the surface care anymore. His struggle is finally proven futile."

"Also," Charon coughed, "if I might make a suggestion, I think a raise would be a nice reward for all these years of-"

"Silence!" Hades raised his hand. "Do not, as those mortals say, ruin my mood. When Samhain has ended, it will be the winter solstice, and I return to Olympus...with the story of how I conquered, imprisoned, and finally threw back Harry Houdini back into the depths of Tartarus which he once considered no more trivial of an escape feat than a pair of flimsy handcuffs. And now I would like to make preparations for my wife's return to my side. Good night," Hades waved off the guards and walked away.

"Oh my goodness," one of the meandering souls gasped. "Is that...a genuine Prada?"

Charon opened his mouth, then smiled. "Why, yes actually...I mean, I had been eyeing..."

"It is exquisite, really," the deceased soul declared. "Really suits you, Karen."

Charon opened his mouth to protest then decided he didn't care anymore. He supposed he might as well forget to mention that, although Mrs. Houdini had given up, other magicians still held onto tradition and organized their own huge Houdini séance.

* * *

"Status report!"

"Yes, my Lord."

" _What_ are you _wearing?_ "

"It is called Armani, my lord...would you have preferre the Versace or Valentino perhaps-"

"I care not!" Hades boomed. "My helm is gone, probably due to some wicked retaliation on the part of my brothers. I am in no mood to feign interest in your ridiculous apparel...all I wish to ask, _is Houdini still in Tartarus?"_

There was a silence.

"You...you mean the man we imprisoned back in 1926?" Charon would have blinked if he had eyes. "My...my lord..."

"I did not ask for your excessive questioning," Hades seethed. "Just tell me, _quod sic vel nihil,_ IS. HARRY. HOUDINI. STILL. IN. TARTARUS."

Charon took a few steps back, somewhat bewildered. "Y-yes, my lord," he stuttered.

"Well thank you, _Karen_ ," Hades boomed, looking furious and deeply offended. "At least one of my possessions hasn't vanished mysteriously or tried to run back to its mommy up on the surface. Wonderful. By the way, out of curiosity...do you remember what hapened to that property I was scouting in Palm Beach around 1926? Didn't the lady who built a house on it die in 1973?"

"Indeed," Charon replied silkily, "that was a good year, you know...not long before Armani was-"

"Yes, yes, whatever," Hades rolled his eyes impatiently. "Is it still...in existence? Has anyone bought it?"

"Yes, believe so. The federal government determined that it was too costly and both Carter and Nixon turned it down, but one daredevil finally bit the bullet in 1985."

"Curses! And who is this audacious individual?"

"Oh, only one of the most evil and dark figures known to humankind, sir."

"Impossible. He cannot conceivably outrank me in this regard. Of whom do you speak?"

"Why, the other man we reserved Tartarus for, my lord. He goes by the name of...Donald Trump."

"That foul man! He is intolerable enough as a businessman. I hope he never touches politics."

"You do not want it anymore, sir?"

"The property? Certainly not after that foul man touched it - you don't know where those hands have been. No, forget about it. I am thinking we should relocate to somewhere else...perhaps, a festering source of corruption and overindulgence. Like..."

"L.A.?"

Hades and Charon stared at each other for a good five minutes.

"L.A...hm, L.A.! L.A...Indeed, why yes, who _wouldn't_ have thought of L.A...how simple minded, Charon..."

Charon took a deep breath and willed himself to wait silently for a few more seconds.

"L.A. it is! Time to start moving the entrance of hell to somewhere else."

"Of course, my lord. Immediately. However..."

"What is it?"

"If you would please...someone has changed my name tag...if you could, by your grace, rectify it or at least find out which lowlife did it..."

Hades narrowed his eyes.

"I don't see anything wrong with the spelling, Karen," he replied coldly. "Unless you are finicky about whether there should be an _i_ or an _e_. Begone from my sight!" With that, he stood up and marched out, throwing his dark cape menacingly around him. Charon restrained himself from screaming out a monologue to the likes of Macbeth or Hamlet by reminding himself of the lovely Versace he planned on getting next. But then again...when exactly was his next payday?

"Well, I guess I just 'forgot' to mention that new magician nicknamed the 'female Houdini' who performed the world's first sucessful bullet catch for Donald Trump himself, just like you forgot how to spell my name," he muttered to himself.

"What was that?" Hades bellowed and materialized by his side. Charon nearly jumped.

"Dorothy Dietrich, sir...she is the chosen one who holds séances for her idol Houdini, after the responsibility was passed down to her by Walter Gibson, after it was passed down to him by Mrs. Houdini...there is a portrait of her at the Houdini Magical Hall of Fame.."

"How dare she," Hades snarled. "Insolent mortals, always trying to take back what is rightfully mine...burn it down!"

"Burn what, milord?"

"Burn the damn museum down! Let it be a sign to all those who try to revitalize my nemesis!" Hades gasped. He looked around him a wild haze. "Oh no you don't, Harry," he snarled. "I've had enough dealing with that stupid Potter boy going in and out of these doors...and selling off Cerberus' accidental twin brother to that weird hairy man named Hagrid...I WILL NOT BE MADE A FOOL OF IN MY OWN HOUSE."

More silence.

"So...relocate Inferno H.Q. to L.A. and set fire to the Houdini Magical Hall of Fame?"

"Yes."

Awkward silence.

"Give me that name tag. I cannot demand respect when my ferryman's name is so horribly butchered."

"With pleasure, my lord."

* * *

"Well, well, well," Hades laughed sinisterly. "Harry, Harry, Harry. How are you doing? Have you enjoyed your ninety year stay, good friend? Or...dare I use the word...my nemesis?"

"I thought you had bigger fish to fry, Hades," the imprisoned man sneered. "Like that Jackson boy, for example."

"Oh him? Please," Hades laughed lightly, "compared to you, he is nothing...you, though," his eyes glinted with a fire kindled by past struggles and infamy, "you were on my level like no other mortal...that Hercules and Orpheus got what they wanted in the end, but in the end...even your wife is now beyond your reach, isn't she? Sad, sad, sad. Poor Harry," he tutted mockingly.

"You wicked, sadistic man," Houdini panted. Hades only laughed louder.

"Oh my...can you hardly even believe it's nearly been a whole century since the anniversary of my triumphing over you? I can't wait until it's been a hundred years. Frankly, time has gone by so fast."

"Well, maybe for you, but it's been a hell of a long time to me," Houdini growled, struggling against his restraints and only exacerbating his pain. Hades smiled wistfully.

"And to think that I used to lose my nights of sleep, obsessing over you...desperately searching for a way to finally, finally ensnare you and never let you go...and now it seems all too easy, doesn't it? Death always wins."

"Hades, you son of a bitch," Houdini grunted.

"I always told you, didn't I...Harry Houdini, you and I are far more alike than you could ever imagine," Hades muttered. "You could have joined me. We could have been great...lords of the underworlds, trapping mortals in snares they would never escape, instead of you...slaving away, all your life, trying to convince imbeciles that no, it was all an illusion hahaha I am not a demigod, would you like another cup of tea? And yet you chose not to reveal your true form...to hide your existence instead, to be hailed as a hero, only to be hit fatally in the two weak spots where the River Styx's waters had not imbued you with immortal properties...your ankle, and..."

Houdini winced stoically.

"Where is my wife?" He asked weakly.

"Gone," Hades smiled. "Just like your Hall of Fame...which I personally burned to the ground in ashes, might I add."

"I know." Houdini's overgrown, unkempt hair covered his eyes. "I knew it. I felt it go out."

"I won, Harry. I burnt your weak, easily fallible, ephemeral-"

"It was a decoy. The true shrine for my arts was the Magic Castle."

Hades turned red with anger at first, then calmed down.

"Oh, but I forgot to mention," he smirked, "I also set fire to the Magic Castle."

"I also sensed your presence at the Magic Castle. All except for in the Houdini Room, which I protected from any damage with the last of my powers. Only the chosen mortal who dares venture within shall find the source of my magic," Houdini grinned. "The protection spell is strengthened on Halloween thanks to the séances that magician fans of mine conduct on my death day each year."

"Halloween...was the time that I chose to burn Magic Castle down," Hades realized with horror. "You...you sneaky bastard!" He hollered, slapping him.

Houdini made no reaction, just smiled triumphantly and silently.

"Never mind," Hades glared, "in the end...it is I who have won. You may have enjoyed your time when you were buried alive and escaped Tartarus..."

"Ah yes, good times. I commissioned old Howard to write a story about it..."Under the Pyramids"...ever read it?"

"Silence!" Hades trembled. "Much as you laugh now, I have won the final battle. That was your last escape...you are now here forevermore. Farewell, Houdini. You were once a formidable opponent, but now..I hope I might forget you, at least until our hundred year mark," he snarled, walking away.

Houdini took a deep breath.

"Charon!" Hades yelled.

"Yes, my lord...?"

"Lately we have not been catching nearly as many evil, corrupted souls as we should have. We are relocating to the true source of evil itself!"

"You don't mean..."

"Yes, I mean it!" Hades barked. "I don't care if we have to live _under_ it or around it, but seriously. It hosts the annual International Red Cross Ball? Guests pay upwards of $200,000 and include the New Jersey Democratic Party Leader? Something insidious is going on, without a doubt, and now it is time for us to take advantage and move hell to the newest source of corruption."

"I thought you had wanted to go to Wall Street instead, sir?"

"Do not contradict me!" Hades glared. "I rewrote your name tag once, Charon, and I can rewrite it again if you dare displease me again."

"I..." Charon took a deep breath. "I'll start moving our headquarters immediately, sir...by the way..."

" _What?_ "

"About that raise...and, ahem, my next salary...when will..."

Hades simply shook his head and stormed away. Charon seethed.

"This," he snarled, "is the _last_ straw."

Gnashing and grinding his teeth together, he rapidly punched Dorothy Dietrich's contact information into a cell phone.

"Hello, ma'am? So, about that ten thousand dollar reward you offered for anyone who could get you into contact with your idol Houdini? Well, haha, funny story...I am calling _directly_ from the underworld, and yes, I know where the fuck he is. Yes. Yes, I WILL open a portal into the human world so he may meet you in the flesh. Uhhuh. Uhhuh. No, I don't want your filthy human cash, just put it on my bank account like a normal person! Uhhuh. Alright, I don't care, yes you may escape with him and hide him at some Buddhist monastery or wherever you like...I could not care less what happens to him. Yeah, sure, I guess an invisibility spell _would_ be wise, come to think of it. Goodbye!"

* * *

On May 22nd, 2017, a four by four sinkhole opened in the Southern Boulevard in front of Mar-a-lago, President Trump's private resort in Palm Beach, Florida.

No one could really explain what had caused it. Perhaps, as they joked to themselves, hell had indeed opened its mouth...for just a few seconds there. But everyone laughed it off for the most part, except for maybe a few awkward looking teenagers in orange shirts who just turned to look at one another and laughed more nervously.

All that Hades knew, however, was that by some mysterious means, Harry Houdini had vanished entirely from his clutches and somehow Charon, not that he really cared about Charon's stupid business, had gotten himself another stupid and expensive Italian stupid suit. Whatever, not that he cared. He went to go sulk in the shadows and plot his revenge somewhere...first he would check all the Buddhist monasteries. Why Buddhist monasteries? No real reason. He just had a nagging feeling in his godly guts.

Charon, on the other hand, was just spiffy. He had enough money to buy himself an entire new wardrobe now. Everything was just fine and dandy. Well, Persephone was bugging him and hinting that she wouldn't mind it if he opened another sinkhole just for her. Not that she knew anything, but really...she wasn't born yesterday, either.

Far away, a man with a newly shaved head and orange robes laughed to himself loudly before being asked to repeat the Upāsaka vows.

* * *

 **Note: I do not mean to defame the great name of Houdini. Although this does not justify certain obvious (and maybe potentially disrespectful) implications, please remember that a lot of freedom was taken for the expression of satire and parody. Sadly, the River of Styx could not have saved him, much as it would have been nice to imagine...but he really was a magician who fought against fraud and sought to debunch fake psychics and spiritualism. Please do spend some time reading about Houdini's real life, times, and death. He really did commission works from H.P. Lovecraft and broke off a friendship with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, author of the Sherlock Holmes series. And the horribly named cricket team? Either an elaborate Wikipedia hoax, or just a comically incomptent team of writers who all just got together cause why not.**

 **Anyway..the idea came to me when the sinkhole opened and I finished the first PJO book, in which it was remarked that the actual location of hell moves around. And among those who braved the depths of Tartarus, Houdini's name was casually thrown in. Man...I really need to order the second book of PJO soon.**

 **RIP, Harry Houdini.**

 **May all of those reading have a good day and stay safe.**

 **See ya!**


End file.
